Solitude Reversed
by Erised
Summary: A bond exists between the Malfoys and the Weasleys, a bonding holding power that can be used to kill. The question is...who will harness the power first? Heads up: Will eventually be R.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or anything related to it. So please don't sue me. But the idea is mine, so do not sue me for that.

**Birthday Gift**

**            "He is going to do it tonight."**

**            "It's always a pity when they take the young. Are you sure he's willing?"**

**            "He must be. He may be under his father's control, but a more spoiled brat I've never seen."**

**            "Severus…"**

**           "Sorry. I just don't like compromising my position as potions master by giving the lot of them good marks. You know I have to."**

**            "I thought you said he earned his marks."**

**            "Oh, _he does. It's the others I'm annoyed about."_**

**            "I know secretly you have a soft spot for him somewhere."**

**            "I have no such spot."**

**            "If you say so. Tell me, Severus, just what will he be required to do?"**

            Draco sat in the window seat, watching the red tipped leaves of the tree below him try to reach up and tickle his feet. His black, silk pajama pants rippled in the slight breeze that was brought by Sunrise's golden angels heralding dawn with the chirps of birds. His excitement too much to restrain, he hadn't slept much the night before, and now waited for the last day of his exclusion to end with a barely before it had begun. His birthday had gone by with a ball his mother had thrown and all his presents had been expensive but mere tifles to the one from the Dark Lord. He had been given a promise to receive this present a week from his birthday. And so the week had gone by, far too slowly in Draco's opinion, and now he was faced with the dawn of the last day. Tonight he was to receive the mark.

It had been a wonderful summer. This year the Dark Lord had returned and requested Draco's presence at his side. Every day, Draco had to play manservant to the molding, old snake and if he weren't such a genious of torture, Draco would have never bothered. But the way he spoke, despite the lisping hiss and rasping breath, the way he knew everything showed the power that the Dark Lord wielded. Draco would have thought that his father would feel different about him, now that the Dark Lord had shown so much interest in him. Obediently, he attended all the meetings, spoke when spoken to, never let his interest waver elsewhere. He witnessed the punishments and the rewards and all of the minions bowing toward their master. Only Draco had the Dark Lord treated like a true son spawned of his loins; he was never asked to bow except the first time when he had done so out of duty and been told with a laugh "Do not bow again to me, boy". Both the Dark Lord and Draco shared a common hate that bound them together. Like his interest, his devotion never wavered.

Draco swung his legs back into his room to get dressed and meet his mother for breakfast. Too busy with tonight's preparations, his father wouldn't be there. He entered the dining room in which breakfast lay before his mother. The room filled with light,  passing by the drawn, sea green curtains and through the aging muslin that covered the window. His mother dipped her spoon delicately into her hot cereal as Draco sat and pilled eggs onto his plate. All his anticipation had made him famished.

            His mother's mouth was oddly pinched as she chewed and Draco knew why.

            "You are certain you wish to go through with this?" She was at it again.

            "Yes, mother."

            "I know you are doing as your father wishes like a good son, but you don't need to. There are ways for you to avoid any unpleasantness."

            "Yes, mother." She turned to him her eyes like wet glass, the clear blue shimmering through.

            "I'm worried enough about your father, as it is. Must you me make me worry about you too?"

            "It is what I want, Mother, truly what I want."

            "I suppose," she sighed, "I just to not want my baby to grow up." Her voice cracked slightly and Draco decided he was done.

            "If you'll excuse me-" He returned to his room.

            Narcissa watched him leave, watched as the redwood doors opened magically before him and closed shut after him. She only wanted to give her son a choice. Lucius had once been given the same choice, but he had chosen the wrong path and now she suffered. If Draco took that same path and never looked back, she would be twice wronged and twice grieving.

            His nose buried within books of Dark Magic, the day passed as rapidly as his eyes before the page. At the start of sunset, he dressed in pressed black trousers and a button down green shirt – green for a serpent, green for Slytherin, green for Malfoy, green for Voldemort – before pulling a thick, velvet cloak around his shoulders, fastening the silver, snake-shaped clasp, the emeralds in its eyes glistening as if it were alive. Vain in front of his vanity, he made sure every aspect of his appearance was satisfactory for the most important night of his life. The knock of his father's cane on the door signaled that it was time and he went to the door to find his father standing, impassive as ever, just beyond the doorway.

            "Hurry up, son."

            Draco followed his father to the ballroom. Usually, the long red curtains would be drawn and the French doors opened to allow passage to the garden when there was company, but as this was a meeting of utmost secrecy the curtains were drawn, the chandeliers dimly lit, and a huddle of black cloaked figures standing in a circle, with gaps in the circle. Draco lifted his hood to cover his tell-tale blond hair as he entered and his father fell into his spot in the circle; Draco stood behind him.

            "Come here, boy."

            The Dark Lord was the only one with his hood down and his cloak, instead of plain black, was embroidered with crawling silver serpents. Draco stepped from behind his father to the Dark Lord's side. A live snake coiled at his feet unfurled and slithered towards Draco, wrapping around and through Draco's legs in what it must have presumed was an affectionate manner. Usually, he would have knelt to allow Nagini, the snake, to crawl onto and wrap around his arm, but not tonight.

            "Enough, Nagini." The snake slithered to the center of the circle. "Step into the center of the circle, boy. All of you, lower your hoods and show your marks. Usually, you would not know who was in my inner circle. Your loyalty already affirmed before you had received your mark, I felt no need to give it earlier than I had planned yet no need to keep you in the Dark, lest you develop resentment. Step into the circle, boy." He did so and Nagini curled around him once more. "Remember everyone who you see here. Do not assume anyone other than those you see here to be trustworthy."

            Draco turned, Nagini peering over his shoulder. His father, and beside him a space large enough for three. He knew who belonged there: himself, beside his father and a restlessly faithful couple, the Lestranges, sent to Azkaban in their plight to resurrect the Dark Lord. Wormtail next, three more Death Eaters not worth mentioning in Draco's mind, Macnair who had nearly killed BuckBeak but unfortunately the cheeky half-bird got away, a two newer faces, Crabbe senior and Goyle senior, Blaise Zambini's older sister and Zambini's father, then Karkaroff, then Snape, and a gap of what would have been four, had three new faces not shown and only one space was left. Almost all of the death eaters were male, only one present was female the other female was locked in Azkaban. Having made a full revolution and the Dark Lord now satisfied, Draco returned to the center of the circle, Nagini curled around his arm, the very arm he was to receive the mark on.

            "Lucius," the Dark Lord commanded and his father obeyed, standing before his son, next to the Dark Lord who had also stepped forward. Above, the chandelier flickered and died and came to life once more. Suddenly Nagini darted forward, biting his arm and sinking her fangs into his pale flesh. He knew he should cry out wit pain, but surprise overcame this reaction and he stared at the punctures her fangs had made. They were red but not bleeding; he could feel the venom traveling quickly up and down his arms. The Dark Lord stuck his wand tip into one of the holes, his father stuck his in the other. Nagini curled happily around his middle.

            "_Morsmordre__!" they incanted in unison. Beginning at the punctures, he felt sharp pain, rivaling the Cruciatus Curse in its strength, travel through his body as though carried by the venom. A small tear formed in the corner of his eye that he could not prevent falling as he bowed his head gently. The tear landed on Nagini's head and she level her head with his nose, her flickering tongue just touching the tip. The pain slowly faded and as it did the black mark grew in his skin. It was beautiful, the serpent's eye where one puncture was, one of the skull's eyes where the other puncture was, and both wounds had been healed. He look up from his arm, first to the Dark Lord, then to his father, then to the Death Eater's beyond them. He wasn't sure whether to smile or remain he impassive; he chose the latter._

            The Death Eaters put their hoods up once more and were met at the doorway by a thin-lipped Narcissa, his mother, to be seen to the gate. The Dark Lord, assisted by a man with a glowing hand whom the Dark Lord called Wormtail in mock affection, led the pack of Death Eaters. His father escorted Draco to his room, the mark that had once shown so brightly on the underside of his forearm fading rapidly. He rubbed at it in an attempt to get it to stay longer but stubbornly it faded and disappeared until he could see it no longer. By this time, they had reached his bedroom door, and Lucius stood with the door open waiting for Draco to enter.

            "Son?" he questioned as Draco made his way to the adjoining bathroom and instead turned to face his father. "I'm proud of you."

            Shocked, Draco stood for over a minute, watching the closed, ebony door and listening to the merry cackling of the fire. His father had never told him he was proud. He walked dazedly to bed and lay on it without removing his clothing. Sleep promptly stole him away from reality.

Next up: The leading lady comes into the story, can you guess who? What will Draco do now that he is officially a Death Eater? ::cries over his beautiful marred skin, or if you take that literally, wishes to cry over his beautiful marred skin.

Also, I need a beta reader. Just drop me a review (I love those things!) or go to my profile and get my e-mail address. This might sound weird but if you could send me a sample of writing, or a link to one of your stories, I'd greatly appreciate it because I want my beta to be thoroughly critical of my writing in all aspects: ideas, grammar; typographical errors, nonsensical ideas, etc. For example, if I'm stumped I'd like to say, "Where do you think this could go?" and discuss possible outcomes. Mucho Gracias.


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